


fate, it splits in two

by Still_sleepless



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ancient Greek Religion & Lore Fusion, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Angst, Fluff, Holy Roman Empire, M/M, Nobility, Possibly Unrequited Love, References to Ancient Greek Religion & Lore, Tragedy, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-06
Updated: 2020-06-06
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:28:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24571555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Still_sleepless/pseuds/Still_sleepless
Summary: Everything is the colour of the setting sun.//Jaehyun won't survive the war.
Relationships: Jung Yoonoh | Jaehyun/Suh Youngho | Johnny
Comments: 4
Kudos: 20





	fate, it splits in two

**Author's Note:**

> I'm beginning to think that I have a problem with WIPs. 
> 
> Anyways, this is my first historical AU and I've done some research but if anything seems inaccurate, please excuse me.
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

_Our fortune has been written, my love, and the fates are against us even now._

There's a whisper in the air of something about to occur. Dawn rises a bloody awakening and the siren blares a stark, screeching message. _War is upon us_ , in tones of maudlin grey and military green. Arrows will fly overhead and pierce the hearts of every traitor and deserter that dares to breathe. There's no escaping it. We are born to die and dying to live. 

At the Western border, there's an intersection of land where all the houses are laced in riches and luxury. It is here, that we find ourselves, at the far side of a sprawling manse where a man - who's not yet a man - is running down the steps of an ivory tower. The sound echoes, the harsh sense of leather against stone and then against marble.

Jaehyun is late today, frantic as he attempts to secure his satchel and brush stray strands of hair out of his face. He doesn't realise it but his bag is half-open, leaving a trail of papers behind, all whilst leading out to the yard where his friends await. Doyoung is tapping his feet impatiently, hands on his hips in the perfect image of irritation. 

Jaehyun comes to a stop, dust kicking up with the momentum and he grins cheekily, full despite Doyoung's judgement. "Where were you? It's most unlike you to be late." Taeyong is glowing under the golden light of the sun, his shoulder-length hair has been tied away neatly and Jaehyun, once again, questions whether Taeyong is Adonis reborn. 

He huffs in an unbecoming way, bent at the waist to catch his breath before straightening up and allowing Jungwoo to take his bag. "I was up until dawn," he admits, not looking at Doyoung, reflexively moving his feet and drawing a sigil in the ground. "I had a spark of inspiration," he continues in a hushed tone, hyperaware of everyone in the yard and glancing at Jungwoo who's _sweet_ but still a steward with a fondness for gossip.

Doyoung has the ghost of a smile on his face, tilting his head in something tinged with amusement. However, Yuta interrupts before they can discuss anymore. He calls, shaking his head. Yuta's hair is held in the same fashion as Taeyong's but is a striking shade of white, a halo that's currently coming undone due to the humidity.

"If you're quite done chatting then we should begin," Yuta's voice lacks the formality that Jaehyun should expect and even demand but he doesn't feel slighted for Yuta is a brother as well as a teacher. The four of them are bound by blood, the twine twisting around their wrists and holding loyalty in place. 

Yuta busies himself, efficiently allocating each of them with arrows, slender hands passing out the heavy wooden bows with ease. Jaehyun's bow is bone white, sprawling gold script embroidered along the arrow rest. Jaehyun handles the bow carefully, contemplating the weight before studying the single word that adorns the limbs of the riser, written in neat print: _finitude_. A callback to the family maxim, blue sigil a sword in stone. 

"Donghyuck has deposited a crevice lacquer to the centre-serving. Correct?" Doyoung asks, infinitely curious and incredibly well read. He likely already knows the answer but is just feigning ignorance as an attempt at humility. The urge to scoff rises so Jaehyun blows out a puff of air instead and looks upwards. The skies are clear, save for a lone cloud floating directly overhead.

Yuta murmurs in affirmation, impressed by Doyoung's inference. "Yes. He's assured me that this will increase durability and also improve the problems we were having the grip." As expected, the conversation devolves into talk of the mechanics. Jaehyun soon tunes their voices out and makes eye contact with Taeyong, a silent challenge in his countenance which Jaehyun accepts.

The arrows are dark and lined with a coating of metal, enough to clang as Jaehyun swipes one and notches it in a single, fluid movement. He takes a breath, cold filling his lungs with a potent vibrancy, ignoring the bystanders watching and pulls the string taut. Jaehyun pauses, feeling the tension reach his shoulder and embraces the tinge of pain that licks at his joints like a blooming flame before he lets go. The arrow flies through the air in a half-moon path, whistling as it goes before it hits the hanging target.

There's a second of refraction, wherein Jaehyun struggles to see and squints to make up the difference. Doyoung saves him the trouble with churlish applause and an easy grin. "Seven," He declares, accompanied by Yuta's laughter. Close up, he whispers knowingly, "if you weren't so preoccupied with drawing eyes to your every moment then maybe you would fare better." Jaehyun has no way of refuting Doyoung's assertions so he settles for an innocent tilt of the head, eyes batting in a: _who, me?_ motion.

Taeyong cuts through their banter, posture squared as he strides past Jaehyun and assumes the correct position. He wastes no time, letting the arrow loose with practiced confidence, and when it hits ten no one is surprised. 

"I guess you're buying tonight, then." Yuta pats Jaehyun firmly on the back, smugness seeping through the thin veneer of his well-bred voice. Jaehyun can only heave a sigh, knowing that the three of them will be unlikely to treat his pockets kindly. 

The others continue making jokes at his expense, enough to have Jaehyun clutching at his stomach from amusement. The afternoon continues like this, dwindled away under companionship and crude humour. That is, until Jaehyun walks up to retrieve his arrow - a nine this time - and feels a spot of wetness graze his jaw. He looks up and sees the lone cloud from earlier, except it is now a large grey mass and Jaehyun tilts his head backwards with a smile that could sooth even the most tender of wounds. The moment before the sky breaks open is sweet and the air tastes of honeydew dreams, even as rain pours down, drenching Jaehyun from head-to-toe. 

Everyone moves quickly after that: Doyoung and Taeyong assist Yuta with moving the dismantled bows into the armoury cavern. Yuta pulls Jaehyun's arrow from his grip with a quick wink. "See you tonight," He says. Then he turns and sets off urgently, with Taeyong and Doyoung in tow, his blonde hair sticking to his neck like an oppressive curtain.

Jungwoo affixes the satchel to Jaehyun's back before he, too, disappears. Jaehyun is left standing alone in the empty training yard, silly grin still on his face. It's only when the cold starts sinking in, wet clothes like a second skin, that he finally gains the presence of mind to head inside.

He saunters through the winding steps up to the purple-bricked grace house, his mother's homage to Minerva's glory, the bluff stone shining even beneath the storm-ravaged skies. Jaehyun swings into the passageway, glancing at the high ceilings composed of stained glass, a cast of creation fraternising in a still image of careful chaos. He's still staring at the curve of Demeter's limbs, cut out from tempered green float glass, when he hears a slight shift from his left and startles, an inhale and the quickening of his pulse the only indicators of his surprise. 

Standing in a leaning alcove, hidden between the recreations of David and Ouken, is Johnny. He's a looming vision in loose wool and form-fitting leather. Jaehyun does not know why he's here.

"Ser?" Jaehyun can only question, words always disappearing whenever he's glimpses Johnny's visage. His hands hang uselessly at his sides and he's hyperaware of how much he must resemble a drowned horse. 

"I believe these are yours," Johnny responds, holding out a stack of papers with both hands. Jaehyun looks mindlessly before the familiarity of the parchment strikes him and the situation dawns on him.

"Oh. I didn't realise -" Jaehyun grasps at his satchel with one hand, confused as to how he didn't notice the change in weight. He meets Johnny's eyes uneasily, uncertain about how much he's seen. "Thank you for returning them," he says eventually, taking the stack gratefully with a little nod of the head.

Johnny doesn't acknowledge his thanks, face stony and voice devoid of any discernible emotion when he says: "I have been sent by your father. He requests your presence in the Cold Room." Then, almost as an afterthought, "your art was pleasant to look through." His lips quirk up slightly and Jaehyun feels an uncomfortable sensation take root in his ribs. It feels like falling. As quickly as the smile had come, Johnny is walking away, both hands clasped behind his back, a disciplined stance. Jaehyun can only watch, left standing alone once again.

He puts his art away and sets off with one last look at the statuettes, gaining courage from their immovable form.

Jaehyun heads towards the Cold Room, named as such because it's the coldest point in the manse, located at the centre and still holding no heat in the summer. Jaehyun's father is warm-hearted but he despises the heat, often seeking refuge in the Cold Room while his mother wraps herself in angora and joins him. _Love is a strange thing_. Yet, Jaehyun is proud that his parents haven't let the fire of their love burn out and hopes to gain half their happiness one day.

Hesitating, Jaehyun hovers in front of the double-oval doors and then knocks twice, a resounding wave of knuckle against wood. He waits and hears movement. The doors open, flanked on either side by Jungwoo and Mark, and the expansive room comes into view; his parents sitting at the long table at the far side.

"My son." His father's expressive voice echoes against the hollow surfaces and he waves him in. Jaehyun walks over to the table, besides his mother and is overtaken by the fact that he's forgotten his crown. "Jaehyun, as you all know, is eager to sit in on more meetings. One day, he will sit in my place and it's best to be prepared." Lord Jangwook is sombre, but there's a smile in his eyes, pride evident.

Jaehyun isn't one for politics or greed, but all those at the table are people he's had the fortune of growing up with. _This isn't business, it's more a social call_. Jaehyun lets himself relax, about to sit in a space next to his mother but there's a disgruntled sound from behind him.

Taeil grimaces, appraising Jaehyun's appearance with slit eyes. There's a plush towel in his hands and he wipes at Jaehyun efficiently, laying down a coverlet on the chair. " _Now_ , you can sit." He allows, once he's done, stern brows set harshly while he takes Jaehyun's bag and sets it aside.

Finally, Jaehyun takes his seat, a coy curve to his lips. "Lady Dana," He says demurely, eyes downcast in a half-bow towards his mother who's still in mourning attire, having lost her aunt to scarlet fever a fortnight prior. Then he winces when his mother gives a small box to his ear.

" _Lady Dana,_ my prim _behind_ ," she scolds loudly, enough to prompt a bewildered sound from Taeil and a raucous laugh from his father. "I did not raise you just for you mock me with such formalities." She whines, tone high and entirely unbefitting of a lady of her rank.

Jaehyun feels his heart burst with sudden love, for his mother, for his father and for everyone around him. The grin on his face gains a reflection in his mother, who rubs at his reddened ear with sheepish regret. Her eyes catch on his clothing and she leans forward, tying at the strings of his tunic which had come undone, exposing a great portion of his skin. Jaehyun reddens, feeling warm even in the Cold Room; a great feat. He cannot recall when that could have happened but he's distracted by the thought.

Across the table, Sicheng is shuffling through a dossier, and at the lull in conversation he interjects. "Actually, this impromptu gathering is timely. I've been meaning to discuss the climate in the East. Johnny has informed me that there are whispers of alarm filtering down-"

Jaehyun is unaware of what Sicheng might be referring to, but he doesn't find out because he abruptly cuts himself off. Jaehyun surveys his father's reaction. It seems that _Lord Jangwook_ is the reason Sicheng stopped, eyes wide and pointedly mouthing _hush_ in an almost comical manner. Subtly has never been his father's strong suit.

Clearing his throat surreptitiously, Jangwook changes the topic. "Forgive me, my boy. I did not mean to pull you away from your friends. Truthfully, your mother concocted this meeting as a convoluted reason to see you," Jangwook admits, fearfully glancing at Dana. 

He's right to be fearful because a second later his ear is _also_ being boxed. There's a tight second where nothing happens but then Sicheng is guffawing, hitting his hands against the table. It's infectious, the laughter, and soon they're all joining in, even Taeil who's laughing behind an elegant hand.

As they laugh, joy spreads the air, a connection that should be cherished for eternity.

They will never realise that eternity does not belong to them. 

The end draws ever near.


End file.
